Artist

For you, art has always been
the truth of a moment 

crackling in silence

caught and released

eternally

Art has always been
as brief as our dash of a life,

as long as 

everyone else's

it has always been made for ourselves

Through the eyes
of everyone else

I looked at a crime made dignified

something dirty made fine

and felt the places in the rocks

which parent jewels
from random bits of this

and that

I saw her hands work quickly

defining our humanity

if anything

the artist is a human

being.

Pulling shape from the ether

Connecting herself to places in you she hasn't met,
but yearns to

she creates

to be immortal and out of time

for just a moment
the place she goes is a nebula kaleidoscope
of potential

grasping at a reason and holding her own hand again

Oh yes- that's where she is.

This outer ring of galaxy

Where the creator is creating

I've never met anyone that wasn't an artist

Some stand on the bones of their grandfathers
and build themselves out of cycles of war zones and depravity

each breath in their lungs is 5 million dollars worth of a blank canvas

they know evils that would make hell jealous

yet felt in themselves the places

that take random bits of this and that

and create hope

A reason to survive

for those who have never known justice or kindness

but feel in themselves that it exists

I think of the effort it takes to breathe sometimes,

when the world doesn't make sense

the battle of trying is immense

and I have to let it go

start with nothing else but where I am
and pull in all my experiences and dreams
(the only things that are ever really mine)

remember that the roads behind me and ahead of me
will never matter as much
as the one I'm on right now.

Today. Be louder than the repeating voice which says: you cannot draw 

cannot sing write dance

that you cannot anything
we are as close to reaching our boundaries
as scientist are
to finding the edges of our universe